


Dance Lessons

by justcallmecappy



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Assassin's Creed Unity - Freeform, Childhood Sweethearts, Cuteness and fluff, F/M, First Love, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, and a little flirtation, childhood story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-09 07:39:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11664612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justcallmecappy/pseuds/justcallmecappy
Summary: During Arno and Élise's shared childhood, one of them enjoyed dance lessons more than the other. But as adults, the painstaking lessons seemed to have paid off quite differently. [AC Unity; Arno x Élise]





	1. Chapter 1

Delicate music drifted across the room, as a quartet of disinterested musicians played a mechanical minuet while the dance master's cane thudded dully on the polished floor. " _Un, duex, trois, un deux, trois_  ... please keep in rhythm, Mademoiselle de la Serre!"

From the dance floor, Élise groaned quietly. Her irritation had been slowly bubbling over since the beginning of the dance lesson, and at the reproach of the dance master, Arno could see her cheeks flush, and her eyes gleam dangerously in irritation. As they approached each other to bow and curtsey, Arno leaned in to whisper, "Don't let him get to you, Élise."

Truth be told, Arno could sympathize – Élise resented all the trappings a young lady of her social status was bridled with: the uncomfortable, stiff corseted dresses, the pompous, boring social gatherings, and all the empty flattery and shallow conversations. Now at age fourteen, Élise was obliged to learn all the fashionable court dances, too. And Arno as well, since Francois de la Serre was hoping to introduce Arno to higher societal circles, and have him play escort to Élise. At their age, their dance lessons were particularly late – most children in noble families learnt dance as early as twelve, but Élise had ran out of excuses for putting them off.

So they found themselves in the de la Serre chateau's salon, which had been cleared of furniture to become a makeshift ballroom. The dance master had a perpetual look of disapproval on his face as his two students stiffly worked out the steps they had painstakingly rehearsed all afternoon. And when the lesson finally ended that evening, the dance master approached Francois de la Serre, who had come by to observe.

"The boy shows promise," he said. "But your daughter, Monsieur, I'm afraid to say, could use a bit more instruction."

Francois de la Serre sighed, nodded as if he expected no less, and the conversation turned into a discussion on the fees and hours for additional lessons for Élise.

Later that evening, after dinner, Arno sat at the end of Élise's bed, massaging her tired toes, listening to her heartfelt lamentations as she lay among her pillows like a wounded soldier. "I don't know why I should learn how to dance, anyway!" she sighed petulantly. "Am I any less of a human being for not being able to dance? If I can't tell the difference between an Allemande and a saraband, would the world come to an end?"

Arno chuckled, amused at Élise's melodrama.

She then abruptly sat up, and launched into a comically accurate impersonation of their dance master: "Quicken your steps, Mademoiselle de la Serre!" she barked out in his affected accent. " _Non non non,_ let him lead! You are too fast, mademoiselle! Too slow! You are dancing in the Court of King Louis, not at some common country wedding!"

Arno laughed openly at this, but Élise only pouted. "It's easy for  _you_ ," she muttered, her voice coloured by a mixture of envy and admiration. "You're a natural. How do you do it? It takes you next to nothing to learn those steps."

"Not really," Arno admitted, though he said nothing of the particular 'sight' he had since he was boy, which allowed him to see things that other people couldn't – he’d used it to see the steps in the floor in ghostly outlines, allowing him to learn a lot faster than Élise. But he felt mentioning it would have only worsened Élise's temper, so he said nothing, and continued to massage her feet in what he hoped was a soothing way.

Élise lay back down in her pillows. "I wonder if I'll ever end up enjoying these dances," she murmured. 

Arno gave her a wry smile. "You will."

"How do you know?"

"Because you'd be dancing with me."

Élise laughed, incredulous, and threw a pillow at Arno, who dodged it and laughed with her.

* * *

Years later, Arno and Élise stood opposite each other in the gilded dance hall as the opening notes of the minuet began. The de la Serres had been invited to another dinner and dance party, and, in Francois de la Serre's absence, Arno took on the role of escort. And as Arno and Élise exchanged glances as they passed each other, the dance steps they had learned so many years ago came to them in a graceful flourish, and all eyes were turned discreetly towards them in envy.

"They're looking at us," Élise murmured.

"Only because they can't believe you bothered to show up, and wear an actual dress," Arno teased in reply, and Élise scoffed.

"They're not just looking at  _me_  –" here they separated, and joined a moment later, "– they're looking at  _you_  too, Arno. I do believe the Marquis d’Anglebert's daughter has been trying to get you to dance with her all evening."

"She'll have to drag me away from you first."

Élise smiled, seemingly pleased at this reply.

They were separated, took on different dance partners, and several steps later, they faced each other again. "Enjoying yourself, Élise?" 

Élise met his dark eyes. She felt his hand brush hers, subtle as smoke, and leaned in so close she could almost feel the heat of his body. She smiled back at him, basking in the warmth of his presence and attention. And she realized that yes, she was quite enjoying herself.

"Only because I'm with you," she murmured, so quiet that only Arno could hear, and, to her delight, a blush spread from his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

"Looks like those extra dance lessons paid off," Arno muttered, trying to salvage whatever composure he had left.

And Élise couldn't help but agree.

 


	2. Dancing in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Élise still has much to learn when it comes to learning court dances. But as she practices with Arno, she discovers that dance is more than just a set of intricate steps.

Twilight descended upon Chateau de la Serre in a soft grey hush. 

Everywhere was silent, except for the kitchens and dining room, where the remnants of dinner were being cleared, candles were being snuffed, and the household went into their respective evening rituals of preparing for bed. The only light throughout the darkened house was silvery moonlight that streamed in through the windows, and the soft golden glow of single candleflames, like tiny pinpricks of light against the dark. 

In her bedroom, dressed in a nightgown, fourteen year-old Élise de la Serre danced alone. She held her hand out to an imaginary partner, counting steps and humming soft melodies under her breath. She was so focused in her dancing, she did not notice the boy who had climbed up to her window, until he tapped gently against the glass.

Élise stopped abruptly in her tracks. Her head whipped around to the window in surprise, before she regained her composure an instant later, and strode to the window to open it.

"Please don't tell me you saw that embarrassing display," Élise sighed, as Arno climbed into her room. She closed the window behind him.

"Alright," Arno replied, grinning. "I won't tell you."

Élise sighed again – although this time it was more of a long groan – and collapsed onto her bed. "I'll never get this right, Arno. I'm doomed to never be a dancer. I'll spend the rest of my days alone – a dull, aging spinster – because no man in France would want to dance with a woman who has two left feet."

"I never thought that would be a matter of concern to you," Arno remarked, taking his usual place at the edge of the bed. 

"It's not to  _me_ ," Élise said, rolling onto her back. "It is for my  _father_." She looked at Arno, an expression of complete incredulity on her face. "You know what Father said to me this morning? He said I'm to learn the gavotte, bourree, _and_  the Allemande by the time summer is over. Can you believe it?  _Three_ dances, Arno! By the end of summer! It would take me _seven_ summers to learn all of that!"

"Making up for lost time," Arno remarked drily, and Élise threw a pillow at him for his lack of sympathy. As it hit Arno, he made a dramatic noise of mock agony, then fell on his back to lie next to her. For a while, the both of them said nothing as they gazed up at the canopy of the bed in silence.

"Would you like me to practice with you?" Arno offered. Élise blinked, her brow furrowing as she considered the idea.

"No, I can do this on my own," she said determinedly, and Arno chuckled.

"You only have ‘til the end of summer."

"Don't remind me."

"You will be doomed forever to a dull life of spinsterhood, with nothing and no one but thirty-seven cats for company."

"That actually sounds quite appealing," Élise admitted, "if not for my father's ghost constantly lamenting in my ear every day until I die, for failing the de la Serre line."

This was followed by another moment of silence, as Élise dreaded her father's disapproval, and Arno amused himself with the mental image of a household of thirty-seven cats.

After a while, Arno asked tentatively, "What did your Father say the penalty would be, if you can't learn all those dances by the end of summer?"

"He said he would send me away to Paris for all of autumn and winter for remedial lessons," Élise said with a pout, turning to look at Arno glumly. "And I am not to come home until spring."

At this, Arno sat up, and took Élise's hand. "Come on, then," he said encouragingly. "I promise I am a better teacher than Monsieur Lacharme."

Begrudgingly, Élise rose from the bed, and let Arno patiently teach her the gavotte. Hours went by and the fire in the fireplace burnt down low. At some point, the lesson was completely forgotten, and they giggled as they played around and exchanged jokes, struggling to keep their laughter no louder than a whisper, for fear of waking the rest of the household.

Then, in a moment of sobriety, Arno took Élise's hands in his, standing close to face her. In the darkness, their features were softly dusted in the faded light of the dying fire, and the sight seemed almost dreamlike and enchanted.

"You can do this, Élise," Arno murmured softly as their gazes met. “I believe in you.” He tenderly stroked the back of her hands with his thumbs, smiling as he did so.

For a brief moment, a flicker of doubt crossed Élise's face, and she looked at Arno almost pleadingly. At this age, they were the same height, and Élise saw herself reflected in Arno's dark eyes, mere inches from hers. It was a split second of vulnerability, and Élise felt her heart almost ache with wanting to honor Arno's faith in her. 

But the moment swiftly passed. And Élise's eyes lit up again with a spark of childish mischief as she gave Arno a sweet, coy smile.

"You were right," she said. "You  _are_  a better teacher than Monsieur Lacharme."

Arno laughed openly at this. But his laugh was loud and unguarded, and was not careful to keep his voice quiet. The sound of muffled footsteps could be heard outside Élise's bedroom door.

"Mademoiselle de la Serre?" the voice of a maid came from behind the door. "Is everything alright in there?"

"Quick, out the window!" Élise whispered urgently, and Arno all but leapt out the same way he came in. He threw a glance behind him before he slipped out, catching sight of Élise's dark red hair shining gold in the firelight as she answered the door. 

As he climbed back down to the ground, he could overhear Élise completely denying there was anyone else in the room, and that the strange sounds were probably coming from cats on the roof. Arno chuckled, shaking his head at her quick wit and nerve - thankful that the arrival of the maid had distracted Élise from the deep blush that had now risen to his face. 

Élise still had no idea how her words affected him; how her simple compliment - and the sweet, teasing sound of her voice - now caused Arno's heart to race, and his composure to waver, ever so slightly.

* * *

Years later, both Arno and Élise quietly strolled arm-in-arm through a darkened garden, dressed in evening finery.

Élise was tired. They had attended a soirée hosted by a certain Monsieur le Clerq, who was celebrating his retirement with a grand ball and banquet, and Élise had just spent the entire evening socializing and dancing. The dances and dining were long over, and the remaining guests took to the gardens to enjoy the evening air. The garden paths were lit with small lanterns, but their light was rivaled by rich moonlight streaming down from the cloudless sky.

"Aren't you glad I taught you those dances, years ago?" Arno asked casually, breaking the silence.

Élise ran her hands along the hedgerows absent-mindedly. Her thoughts were occupied by lessons she had learnt a few days ago – histories of the French Templar Order, the persecution and execution of Grand Master Jacques de Molay, orchestrated by the Assassins. _"It is the duty of the French Rite of the Templar Order to ensure de Molay's sacrifice isn't in vain,"_ her teacher, Lafrenière, had told her that day in somber tones. _"It was in_ France _that the Templar Order fell into obscurity; and it shall be in_ France _that we will rise again, stronger than ever."_ As he spoke, his eyes never left her; and his words and all their implication weighed heavily on Élise's shoulders like lead. 

Brought back to the present by Arno's question, Élise shook herself out of her thoughts. "Oh? Didn't we fool around more than we actually practiced dancing?" she replied, smiling. "It's a miracle I managed to learn anything at all, really."

Arno laughed. "Yes, maybe you're right." He swept ahead to stand in front of her, stopping them in their tracks. "Perhaps this calls for a remedial lesson."

Élise smiled back up at him, drawn to that spark of playfulness in his eyes. "Monsieur, I do believe you are no longer qualified to teach me anything," she sad lightly. "I have long graduated from your classes, and am now a master in the lessons you offer."

"Mademoiselle, I do not doubt your mastery," Arno said, his voice all flirtation and charm, "but I am sure I have a few more tricks up my sleeve that I could show you." He was taller than her now, and had been for many years. And Élise couldn't help herself – she blushed and laughed, wondering where the sweet, shy boy from their childhood had gone, and who was this brazen, handsome stranger standing before her. She held out a hand and hid behind her fan with feigned demureness. "Then lead on, monsieur."

Arno took her hand in his, taking the opportunity to lay a soft kiss on the back of her hand before he led her down the garden path.

Élise could feel the delighted laughter bubble up in her chest, threatening to overflow as they stepped and twirled around each other in the darkness of the garden. Perhaps it was tiredness; perhaps it was relief at being given this brief moment of respite from her thoughts on the past, and worries of the future – but all suddenly all the pressing concerns of the Templar Order, all the heaviness of duty and responsibility weighing on her shoulders seemed so far away, now. There was no music playing, but there was a song Élise's heart. All that existed, all that mattered, was the light of the stars and the love in Arno's eyes, and her feet felt buoyant and light as they danced to silent melodies that only they could hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter may or may not have been inspired by Ed Sheeran's song, "Perfect", hehe~ ;)


End file.
